


Come On In, The Water's Warm

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Van Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 05:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26468311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It was Pete (of course, who else), who had suggested going skinny dipping, one drunken night, when they’d just crashed in a mansion (seriously, a fucking mansion), which belonged to a blonde, giggling girl they’d met at their gig hours ago and who obviously wanted to get into Pete’s pants.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Come On In, The Water's Warm

Patrick had never been a fan of swimming, in fact, he _hated_ it.

During gym class, he used to fake being sick to sit on the bench while the rest of the class were sweating their asses off, but during the time they’d had to go to the pool to attend swimming class, he had put a thermometer on the heating in the morning, right before his mum came barging in and sprayed some water on his face to fake a fever.  
Most of the time he’d convinced his mum with acting skills that deserved an Oscar (because his mum is very, very suspicious of him faking to be sick), that he had gotten ill again, ill to the point that he’d had to stay in bed for the entire day. 

Also he wasn’t a big fan of getting undressed in front of people in general, which meant that during his free time, he’d avoided going to places that required getting undressed in front of people, which also included the local swimming pool.

Which meant, that swimming wasn’t one of his talents. Not at all.

Sure, he’d learned it as a child, but that’s been years ago now and Patrick wasn’t sure if he still could. He’d heard that it’s like riding a bike, you can’t really _forget_ it or _unlearn_ it, but if somebody threw him into the water now, he wasn’t sure if he could still swim, even if his life depended on it. He’d simply drown in a stupid swimming pool.  
Which is like, _really_ embarrassing for a nineteen-year-old boy.

So that’s that, and also the getting undressed thing.  
He’d grown even more self-conscious over the years, hiding under too-large sweaters and hoodies, feeling more than uncomfortable by showing skin in any way. 

He would wear his oversized t-shirts even if it was like a thousand degrees outside while he would simultaneously watch Pete prowling around almost naked, who was showing off his toned, tanned and tattooed skin.  
He would watch Pete all day with an envy, an envy of his confidence (at least that’s what Patrick kept telling himself) but there was also something else stirring him up when Pete had decided to walk around without much clothing again.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it riled him up in a way that annoyed him, but also scared him a little. 

At night, Patrick’s dreams often involved him having to strip in front of Pete (much to his embarrassment), but they tended to be overshadowed by his insecurities.  
This meant that Patrick’s stupid brain would sometimes dream up Pete’s stupid grin, torn into an ugly grimace as he was telling him to cover up, nobody would want to see his chub.  
Dream Pete could really be mean, so Patrick preferred not dreaming about him at all.

Real Pete, however, would never do stuff like that.

Real Pete would always tell Patrick that he’s gorgeous, sweet, _beautiful_ , would tell him things that made him feel funny and lightheaded, made his stomach feel fuzzy like he’d just downed a shot of hard liquor.

Patrick couldn’t put his finger on it. It was weird.

But Pete was overall weird, so his compliments were just _Pete being Pete_.

No need to think about them further, no need to read them as more as some exaggerated stuff that Pete sometimes told his friends because he liked blurting out overly exited words without thinking twice about it.

No need for false hope.

People as hot as Pete didn’t fall for people like Patrick anyway.

x

It was Pete (of course, who else), who had suggested going skinny dipping, one drunken night, when they’d just crashed in a mansion (seriously, a fucking _mansion_ ), which belonged to a blonde, giggling girl they’d met at their gig hours ago and who obviously wanted to get into Pete’s pants.

They’d had a party at the mansion, of course, following the party at the venue, which had involved drinks, pot ( _seriously good pot, surprisingly_ , Joe had been telling them all night) and of course, girls throwing themselves at them. Well, mostly at Pete, some at Joe and Andy and Pete had insisted that there also had been girls who had been _very_ interested in Patrick - Patrick just hadn’t seen them because he’d been caught up in his insecurities again. 

The party at Stacy’s (or had her name been Tracy? Patrick couldn’t remember) mansion had consisted mainly of Dirty, the rest of the band, Stacy/Tracy herself and her friends Brianna, Jenny and Pamela. They’d played four more rounds of truth or dare before Joe had went upstairs with Brianna and Jenny, one girl on each arm, grinning like a Cheshire cat and Andy had passed out on the couch, the poor straightedge fucker had been dead tired and slightly annoyed throughout the whole evening, without any help of alcohol, pot or even coffee. 

Dirty had disappeared with Pamela sometime throughout the truth or dare game, after they had to kiss several times on a dare (Patrick thought that maybe they spun the bottle overly slow on purpose, just to get another kiss out of the game without being too obvious, but after three more shots, they’d just given up on hiding behind the game for a reason to suck face and went to straight up making out in another room). 

Stacy/Tracy had tried to get the bottle to land on Pete a couple of times, but failed, and the bottle had landed on Patrick instead. She had ordered for him to drink some more shots of tequila and Patrick was really getting there, really on the verge to get like, _really_ tipsy and it was more than payback for him to get the bottle land on Stacy/Tracy every time he spun it.  
He’d just ordered for her to do the same as she ordered from him, to drink - so after five more shots, she’d passed out on the floor.

He’d pretty much cockblocked Pete, but he knew that Pete wouldn’t mind. He took whatever he could get, but while Pete was being kinda, admittedly, _easy_ , he wasn’t _desperate_ or anything.

Patrick knew that Pete would be just like „Well, now she’s asleep, maybe we should get her a blanket or something“ and that’s it. No need to push something that wasn’t supposed to happen. And Patrick was glad, _way too glad_ , actually, that it wasn’t gonna happen. 

So that was the situation, everyone had passed out somewhere in this huge ass mansion and Patrick was kinda drunk, but not like, passed out drunk, but that kind of drunk that makes you feel adventurous, makes you wanna do stupid shit, like for example, go skinny dipping in the equally huge ass pool in the backyard that Pete had just discovered. 

_It was also the kind of drunk that made you feel a little horny._

Shit.

A drunk Pete wasn’t very different from a sober Pete, it was just that his movements were a little more uncoordinated and that he swayed a bit more when he walked.  
Drunk Pete was as touchy-feely as ever, blurting out unfiltered exaggerations (in Patrick’s eyes) while fidgeting like a madman, always looking for one more dumb thing to do.

„Come on ‚Trick, we have to check out the pool! We NEED to!!“, the black-haired bassist was babbling, already stepping forward on unsteady feet, grabbing Patrick by the hand and pulling him up from the floor, dragging the singer with him. 

Patrick stumbled after him, not really knowing what to answer, except from „but it’s almost 4 AM, Pete, do you think we’re allowed to - “, before he got Pete hands all over him, impatiently pulling at his sweater to get it over his head. 

In his drunken haze, the redhead didn’t even register what Pete’s goal must’ve been, even though the bassist had already lost his shirt during the stupid game (on a dare, of course, but not from Stacy/Tracy but from Joe, who either had been playing wingman all night long already or was just trying to create more nudity to get everyone playing this game horny as hell - whatever his intention had been, Pete had been more than delighted to get rid of that shirt and Stacy/Tracy had looked at him with dreamy, drunken eyes, clearly wanting to see more of his golden, tattooed skin. Well, take that, Stacy/Tracy, Patrick thought). 

So Pete was already half naked, working on his belt now and Patrick’s brain had difficulties comprehending what was about to happen.

When they’d reached the pool, Pete was in his briefs, just about to pull them down, when the younger boy interrupted him.

„Hey Pete, stop, hey, wh - what are you even doing? Pete!! They could wake up any second and I really don’t wanna get kicked out, I..“, Patrick knew he was rambling now, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

Pete paused his actions to look at him intensely (as intensely as possible, at least, Pete wasn’t exactly sober himself) and his hands came up to touch Patrick’s face.

„Pattycakes, nobody is getting kicked out“, the bassist insisted, „we just need to be _quiet_! Of course, if you keep making that noise, we’re gonna get kicked out, but if you stay nice and quiet..“

Pete’s index finger came to touch Patrick’s bottom lip and okay, this was heading in a whole new direction now and Patrick’s brain was still struggling to keep up with his teenage hormones going crazy and thoughts like _everyone is asleep_ , _Pete is getting naked_ , and, most importantly, _Pete wants to get naked with you_ popping up in his head again and again.

What his brain was kinda missing was, of course, _the actual reason_ why Pete wanted to get naked with him, skinny dipping just worked like that, but hey, jumping to unrealistic conclusions was one of his brain’s special abilities.

„Look, Lunchbox,“ Pete began again and had Patrick snorting at the stupid nickname which his best friend had given him years ago, „we’re not harming anybody here. If we’re really, really quiet, we can just take a quick swim in the pool to cool down a bit and crash on the couch afterwards. Come oooooon, just a couple of minutes“, he urged him on, his fingers now traveling lower on Patrick’s face and down to his neck with a feather-light touch.

Just like always, Patrick caved in, took a step back and went to fumble with the hem of his sweat-clad T-shirt before hesitantly lifting it above his head and taking it off.  
He immediately crossed his arms to cover his stomach, almost out of habit. The only thing he hated more than being shirtless was being shirtless in front of attractive people - and Pete happened to be one of those, unfortunately. 

„Come on, pants too, it aaaaall has to GO“, Pete sing-songed, clever fingers already working on Patrick’s belt to push down his jeans alongside his boxers. This time, Patrick didn’t even try to fight the unstoppable force that was Pete Wentz, but still screeched a little when his pants hit the floor and a breeze of chilly night air hit his naked dick. 

Pete giggled like a thirteen-year old girl that had just discovered her crush at school and shimmied out of his briefs faster than Patrick had seen anyone else. 

Before Patrick could stop him, the fucker also stole his hat and the redhead felt even more naked now than after losing his pants and exposing his already half-hard dick (he blamed the hormones and the alcohol for that - obviously it had nothing to do with being naked in front of his scandalously hot best friend and frontman of his band). 

„I can’t believe it!!! I’m getting naked Patrick!!! It’s not even my birthday, oh my god“, the bassist whispered happily before making grabby hands for Patrick’s again and pulling him to the pool.  
When they’d reached the pool, Patrick was already heading for the ladder, like a normal person would do, but apparently his still manically grinning older friend had other ideas.

Apparently, Pete had entirely forgotten about the whole _quiet_ thing, because the next thing the singer knew was that he was getting pushed into the pool. 

He was underwater quicker than he could handle, splashing and gasping for air, trying to keep his head above the surface, but the alcohol in his system made it even harder to remember how to swim properly and his tries failed miserably. The pool was deeper than he’d first thought and Patrick wasn’t the tallest, far from that, so his feet couldn’t even touch the ground.

 _That’s it, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die butt-naked in a swimming pool belonging to a girl that wanted to get into Pete’s pants_ , he thought before he felt something warm around his torso, strong arms wrapping themselves around him, pulling him in, dragging him to the edge of the pool.

Saving him from drowning.

Surprisingly strong arms that somehow could carry him and were able to keep his head above the surface. Pete’s arms.

They reached the ladder like that, Pete still carrying him in his arms and Patrick clinging to him like a lifeline. He was still sputtering and coughing and probably making way too much noise, but the mansion still remained quiet and Patrick couldn’t bring himself to care right now.

„Woah Lunchbox, I thought I’d lost you!!! Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t swim??“, Pete was already babbling into his ear and Patrick coughed again, angrier this time. 

„You didn’t even - fuck - you didn’t even ask, fucker“, he snapped between coughs, but with no real malice behind it. Pete had just saved him from drowning, goddamnit, the least he could do would be to show a bit of gratitude, but the same man had also brought him into this situation, so that’s that.

They climbed out of the pool and Patrick, still sputtering splashes of water onto the ground, collapsed on the wet tiles. Pete emerged from the water with far more grace and flopped down next to his friend that just almost had drowned, to get his hands all over him again, all worried glances and rambling, leaning in (as always), way too close and starting to roam his hands all over Patrick’s wet skin. And oh. _Oh._

_Oh shit._

They were naked, after all and Patrick’s dick had taken real interest in the situation now, after the whole almost-dying thing was out of the way. 

He tried to bat Pete’s hands away but the other man was already half-crying again, repeating stuff like „Patty, Patty, Patty, I almost _lost_ you, shit!!“ and „HOW the fuck am I supposed to go on without my Patrick? I depend on sleeping on you on the regular, I couldn’t ever sleep again without you, damnit“, and continued to fully wrap his arms around him again, hands roaming lower and, yeah, it felt nice at first because with all the wetness, Patrick’s skin became a bit chilly at some places (and at some places it didn’t because he was straight up _burning up_ where Pete’s hands had been), but Patrick’s dick had filled out with blood so fast, he was becoming dizzy. 

Dizzier than he’d already felt, after a whole night of drinking and a whole minute of almost-drowning. 

Pete pressed closer and closer and all of a sudden, Patrick couldn’t take it anymore. 

He abandoned all the doubts that were constantly crawling up into his throat, surged forward and captured his friend’s lips in an angry kiss - well, kiss wasn’t really how you could describe it, it was more like a mash of lips and teeth and _oh god_ \- Pete was kissing him back like he was a drowning man and Patrick his only source of oxygen. 

The kiss grew more desperate with every second, with Pete clinging to Patrick, hands roaming everywhere, moaning into his mouth, devouring him until they’re both breathless. 

"Oh, ah," Patrick moaned, unable to stop the incoherent sounds from tumbling from his lips, while was clasping Pete’s sides, gripping onto him like a vice and throwing him on his back on the cold tiles so that he could crawl over him. The bassist moaned and pulled Patrick into him again to kiss him, arching against him and rubbing their hips together. They almost lost themselves in the delicious pressure of their bare cocks against each other, as they were quickly finding a rhythm. 

„Fuck, Patrick“, he heard Pete gasp and it was the hottest sound Patrick had ever heard. The bassist had slid his hand down to find his dick, palming the slick head and finding his grip. Patrick groaned loudly as Pete started to stroke and when he looked down, he could watch Pete’s hand working on his cock, seeing the way his tattoos moved as his belly trembled. He rocked into Pete’s fist, desperately trying to get more friction, more of Pete’s touch, more of Pete, while groaning into his neck and mouthing at the smooth skin right below his right ear. 

He could still feel Pete’s hard on rubbing against him, smearing pre-cum everywhere onto the damp skin of his thigh, mindlessly babbling „Oh god, _Patrick Patrick Patrick, fuck_ “ into his shoulder and shit, this is going to be over sooner than expected. 

Then Pete’s lips were on his again, kissing him hard and desperate and it became all a blur of heat and motion as they rubbed and writhed against each other, almost fighting about who would get the other off first. 

Pete’s grip tightened even more and _jesusfuckingchrist_ Patrick forgot how to breathe. He sucked in a shuddering breath, twitching and shaking, holding on to Pete’s shoulders for dear life as he came in white spurts all over Pete’s fingers, biting down on his neck and leaving an angry red mark where he sunk his teeth in. A hickey was already forming below Pete’s ear and Patrick felt a primal rush of possessiveness cursing through him, screaming white noise of _mineminemine_. 

Pete’s breath was coming irregularly now as well, as he desperately kept humping onto Patrick’s thigh, hips shifting like he wasn’t even in control over the movements.  
His cock was still painting streaks of pre-cum all over Patrick’s skin and Patrick was so _gone_.  
He hadn’t come this hard in _months_.

The younger boy still tried to shake loose from his afterglow stupor, breathing hard and trying to get a grip on to reality again, now getting braver and let his hands roam over Pete’s body, over his ass, around his waist, down to his cock.

„Patrick, oh god, please“, Pete begged, now getting louder, shameless moans escaping his lips with every breath. _Of course he’s loud as fuck_ , Patrick thought. He wouldn’t have expected anything else from the black-haired boy.

„Touch me, fuck, _please_ , I need _more_ “, Pete cried, more urgent this time and Patrick complied, wrapping his hand around Pete’s dick and pulling with hard, messy strokes.  
When he started thumbing around the slit at the top, Pete couldn’t take it anymore and his whole body spasmed as he came.

They were still lying on the cold tiles on top of each other, both unable to move with their drying messes of cum between them on their bodies, still a little damp from the water.  
It was slowly getting cold.

Of course, Pete had to break the silence. 

„So, that was.. unexpected“, he began, one hand coming up to stroke Patrick’s cheek again. He did that a lot and Patrick noticed that, much to his surprise, it didn’t bother him at all. 

„Yeah“, Patrick replied. „We should probably get cleaned up.“

Pete’s features turned into a wide, warm, inviting smile again, the smile he always saved for special occasions. 

„We really should. But I’m so not letting you into that pool again, so I’m thinking, we should check out the bathtub upstairs? I’ve been told, it’s pretty huge.“

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to write a Bandom porn ficlet, I don't know what possessed me.
> 
> I do not own the characters, do not google yourselves. 
> 
> Comments and criticism are deeply required, but please be gentle, English is not my first language :)
> 
> x
> 
> Title is from West Coast Smoker by Fall Out Boy, but I think you might know that already if you're reading this.


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